


Ties That Bind

by Artemis_Egeria



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Romance, SVAD2018, Scarlet Vision Appreciation Day, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Egeria/pseuds/Artemis_Egeria
Summary: A natural phenomenon leads Vision to consider truths about himself and his relationship with Wanda. Set roughly a year post-Civil War. No warnings apply, only minor innuendo. Also posted on tumblr.





	Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my first time celebrating Scarlet Vision Appreciation Day on tumblr! I had some trouble wrangling the prompt and this story, so I drew inspiration from a source for the ancient Greek word, the blood-red color, and the idea of connection. More information at the end if anyone’s interested. I intended to write a happy fic, but it insisted on being angsty. I hope you enjoy anyway. Any feedback is appreciated.

Blood binds people together. No matter one’s identity, religion, political opinions. It all has the same rich, red color and the same properties. He is the only being whose blood is different, synthetic. He is likely the only one who has not bled from a papercut or other injury.

Such thoughts were out of place on a beautiful Mediterranean island when he only had forty-four hours left with Wanda before they had to return to their respective duties. However, the red rain pouring down mesmerized him and arrested his thoughts. 

At the sound of her cough, Vision suggested, “Come. The Sirocco winds have been known to cause breathing difficulties and other health problems.” She nodded, but he did not think it was due to the air, but rather the color of the rain that fell around them.

It was darker than the red that swirled around her fingers when she used her powers. It was similar in color to his own skin. But it also reminded him of one of the ten plagues of Egypt that the God of Israel had sent to punish the pharaoh in the Hebrew Bible. He should have seen it sooner, her expression growing more troubled as the rain grew darker. They still had a decent walk from the hot springs to their hotel. He took her hand and led her up the steps that ran down to the springs. They then followed the path back toward the village where their hotel nestled on the hillside.

“Why is the rain red again?”

“During the summer, the Sirocco winds blow red sand from the Sahara Desert. The water cycle then deposits the sand when it rains further north. It typically does not go beyond the areas that directly border the Mediterranean Sea, but sometimes travels as far north as Germany.” He did not tell her that the rain is colloquially known as blood rain.

When they reached their room, Wanda took a shower, and he performed a quick phase to rid himself of the rain. Their room was simply furnished. It held little more than a large bed and a dresser. The view outside their window of the profusion of greenery and the bright blue water more than made up for the sparseness of the accommodations.   
Wanda left the small bathroom with wet hair and slightly pinkened skin. She smiled at him and joined him on the bed. “I was thinking.”

“Yes?” 

“You said the winds were called the Siroccos.”

“Yes.”

“That name sounds really familiar, but I can’t place it.”

This was not a topic he was eager to discuss, but he knew to what she was referring. “Reference to the Siroccos can be found in Juvenal’s _Satire VI_. We read that together at the compound shortly before Lagos.”

“Oh, is that the one about how terrible women are?”

“The very same.” He hoped that would satisfy her curiosity. “It is clear that he did not know the right kind of women.” He reached out to take her hand and placed his other hand at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, thumb brushing lightly over her jawline. 

“You’re trying to distract me.”

He felt the gears in his eyes turn at his slight embarrassment. “Is it working?”

“It’s not now. What’s wrong?” She removed his hand from her neck and brought it to where their other hands rested on the bed between them.

“This memory recalls a great deal of…shame.” It burned in his throat even now. More than a year had passed since he attempted to keep Wanda at the compound and the Avengers had been broken. However, sometimes he still felt that the events of that week had just happened.

The _Satires_ had played a role in both his decision to sign the Accords and his shame. The scathing poem asked, “Who shall guard the guardians?” While the context was far afield of international diplomacy, he found that the question resonated with his logic and his urge to side with the living. It led him to the ineluctable belief that the Avengers had to submit to the United Nations, cooperate, and do their duty to protect the people of the world that their powers required of them. 

She tapped his knee to draw him out of his abstraction. “We talked about this. You don’t have anything to be ashamed about.” They had made their apologies at the airport. They had discussed the subject more since then, but had declared it settled and in the past between them.

“I have come to agree with you, but I felt so at the time.” 

He had never told her the other source of his shame that he had not let go of. He had become aware, prior to the Accords, that his regard for Wanda had transformed from a friendship that had arisen due to their unique circumstances within the team to something much deeper for which he had no name. Still he had said nothing to her.

Who shall guard the guardians? It was not only Mr. Stark’s instruction that had led him to prevent Wanda from leaving. He had selfishly wanted to keep her close. He had also noted the advent of feelings that could not be considered platonic. He had used the opportunity to watch over her as an excuse to ignore her own needs to be trusted and included.

“Vision, I lost you again.”

He smiled weakly at her. “My apologies.” He felt an uncharacteristic need for motion and rose to look out the window in their room. “It is still raining crimson. While the rain is a perfectly natural phenomenon, I suppose I have not escaped the human desire to attribute meaning to the weather. It seems ominous.”

“Maybe it’s just trying to match us.” 

He held out his pale disguised arm. “Not currently.”

“Close the curtains and come back to bed. Then, we can match.” Despite his musings, he gladly complied and resumed his usual complexion. She pulled herself deeper into the bed and looked up at him expectantly. He stretched out alongside her, wrapping an arm around her and tangling his free hand in her hair. She placed her hands on his shoulders.  
They leaned together and their mouths met. He determined that his doubts would not ruin this moment. Later, as Wanda lay curled up beside him, his mind returned unbidden to the poem and its question. He failed to fall into a state approximating sleep.

Some hours later he regained awareness of the present when Wanda poked his shoulder. “Are you okay, Vizh? You’ve been brooding a lot lately.”

He frowned. “I feel that I have been neglecting my responsibilities. I signed the Accords. I made commitments that I still believe in. But I have focused more of my energy on our rendezvous.”

“Do you not want to meet anymore?” She looked at him steadily, but her voice quaked slightly.

He was grateful that her first question was not if he was going to turn her in, as it had been the first time he had found her. Of course, he would never do so. “No, I still wish to meet.” He ran his palm over his face in a gesture that he had seen many of his fellow Avengers use in times of frustration, not knowing how or whether he wanted to verbalize his feelings further. 

“You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I do know. Thank you.” She moved closer to lay her head on his chest, and his arm fell around her shoulders without his conscious volition. “As selfish as it may be, I love you. I cannot let you go now.” She pulled back slightly to smile up at him and peck his lips. 

Despite her reassuring gestures, lingering guilt forced him to add, “Unless you want to be let go of, of course.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be let go of. I love you too, Vizh.” She traced the lines of his face. He almost allowed himself to be lulled, but instead he encouraged her gently to sit up. He replaced his human disguise and stood to open the curtains. He immediately felt separated from her, as illogical as it was, knowing that their coordinating colors was only a small piece of what connected them.

If anything, he should feel closer to her with his uniform, expected skin tone. However, it only reminded him that it was all pretend. His skin formed an arbitrary barrier. He could as easily make himself green or purple. 

Meanwhile, outside the blood rain was still falling. He did not even notice any change in the environment until Wanda ducked under his arm and nestled against his side. “I could see how this rain might make anyone depressed.” She turned him away from the window and pulled him back to bed.

His internal clock informed him that there were now only twenty hours left. “You still haven’t told me what you’re thinking about, Vizh. I’ll drop it if you don’t want to talk, but whatever it is, you don’t have to bear it all alone. That’s the whole point of our being together.”

“I do not want to ruin the remainder of our holiday.”

“You won’t. Did it ever ruin your day when I talked about Sokovia or the experiments or Pietro when I first joined the Avengers?”

“No, Wanda, of course not.”

“You always encouraged me to open up about what I was feeling, and it helped more than I can ever say.”

“I- Thank you, Wanda.” He dropped his disguise as he brought her hand up to his temple. “Please look.” She opened the link between them, and he showed her his guilt, his doubts, his mistakes. In return, she showed him her forgiveness, her love, her acceptance.

It was rare that he found himself speechless, but he had never been so happy to be rendered so. Wanda’s smile did not falter, even though she was looking dazed herself at the intensity of feeling being transmitted along their link. He channeled all his emotion into languid kisses and an embrace that she returned with equal vigor. 

His last thought before he gave himself over completely to sensation was that blood was not the only substance to bind people together. He surrendered pure factual accuracy to remind himself that promises and love bound people as well. He would make those new promises to her. He would offer his love as a bond that would always lead them back to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Links:  
> Juvenal’s Satire VI (the original prompt is from 6.519): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satire_VI  
> English translation: https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/ancient/juvenal-satvi.asp  
> Sirocco winds and blood rain: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sirocco  
> Hotel: https://www.ischiareview.com/villa-natalina.html


End file.
